The City of Metal People
by Fairytale Warrior
Summary: "You can't tell a Typhoon where it should go, no one can. Their winds pull away your words, your very breath stripped from your lungs before it can even leave. Typhoons go wherever they want to go and won't be told otherwise." What does Vash do when he finds himself in the city of Dullport, wounded and surrounded by bounty hunters of all kinds? *Rating may go up.


**Inspired by: Trigun- Badlands Rumble **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Trigun.**

The City of Metal People:

-_SY- 0152, 10:35 AM-_

You can't tell a Typhoon where it should go, no one can. Their winds pull away your words, your very breath stripped from your lungs before it can even leave. They don't care, hell, they don't give a single shit about your puny little form standing like the fool you must certainly be if you're before their might and shouting into their winds. Typhoons go wherever they want to go and won't be told otherwise.

That's why Vash, the most wanted man known to humanity and also the Humanoid Typhoon, finds himself strolling down the street of Dullport surrounded by bounty hunters of all sorts. He'd come here to see the sights, having heard about the tall buildings, various mechanical wonders, and exotic culture. Dullport was a city famous for its incredible machinery, things that ranged from strange doo-hickeys and helpful gadgets to motorcycles that could cross half of the Houma Desert with less fuel than any of the leading vehicles. But really all he wanted to do was get a taste of that famous Oak Chardonnay in one of the many saloons this big town had to offer. Honestly, he hadn't heard that there was going to be a bounty worth 400 million passing through here until he'd set out on the sand steamer and by that time it was too late to turn back. The blond resisted the need to sigh in exasperation, ignoring the boisterous laughter of a few afternoon drunks slung out over the railing of some bar.

"Why must these things follow me around?" he whined to no one, "it's not like I asked for trouble to become my best friend or anything, geeze."

A huge, bulking presence standing directly in front of him forced the aggravated individual to stop.

"Well then, why don't you make me your new best friend instead?" a hulking figure with a gleaming grin asked. Strapped to his back was the shadow of a big AA 12, fully automatic shot gun, the belt holding it to him passing over the muscles on a bare chest dressed with tattoos and iron piercings. Black pants adorned him covered with tears and rips of sorts, his pocket fat with pillaged goods and a .454 casull revolver hugging his left hip.

Completely unfazed by the seven-foot-three goliath standing over him, Vash smiled toothily, "sure!"

"Heh," the tanned, muscular man narrowed his eyes and slung a thick arm around the outlaw's shoulders, pulling him close. "That's great, how about as your first act of friendship you lend a brother some cash?"

"Eh?!" Vash feinted surprise, completely ignoring the thick scar on the forearm over his shoulder as he looked at the rugged bounty hunter with an expression of fake surprise, "why that?!"

The man tightened his grip around him and began leading the blond towards a nearby alleyway, "come on, we're buddies aren't we? That's what buddies do for each other!" He lumbered forwards into the shadows the eaves provided them, dragging Vash along with him.

With a small drop of sweat on the side of his face, the legendary gunman allowed the grin he wore to become strained, "why don't I just buy you some doughnuts instead and we can just call it good?" Holding his hands up in front of him in a weak attempt to keep the other at bay he pushed himself back into the building behind, allowing the bounty hunter to close him off from the main street.

"Now listen here, buddy," he growled, breath pushing a ghastly scent into the blond's face, "I asked you for some cash. Boys like you gotta listen to men like me in these parts, yeh?"

Vash acted as though he was completely oblivious to the insult that had just been thrown his way. "Heheh, well there isn't really much I can give you but," he trailed off and took a handful of bullets out of his pocket, offering, "I could give you these instead."

The bulk of a man glanced down at the bullets and raised an eyebrow, switching his small eyes back up to Vash a moment later to examine his open, fool of a grin. He thought for a few moments.

"Wise choice," he smirked and swiped the bullets out his hand. Vash stepped to the side, giving the giant room as he ripped his casull from its position and popped open the cartridge. "The hell?" he muttered, noticing the lack of ammo his weapon held. Hadn't it had at least four bullets left since he last fired it? He looked to the bullets he held in his hand and counted.

One, two, three, four.

Click.

"Why you little-!" he snarled in outrage, furious for the trickery he had so easily fallen victim to. But when he whirled around to face the space that Vash had only just occupied he found it empty, not even a puff of dust was left to prove that someone had once stood there.

* * *

_-SY-0152, 10:45 AM-_

"What a nice guy," Vash muttered to himself, plopping down on a bench with a bag of doughnuts cradled in his arm. A headache had begun to pulse behind his temple and he was feeling a little hot so he looked for distraction in people watching. He silently observed the bustle of activity in the town around him with a glazed ring stuffed in his mouth, smiling at the child who was pleading with his mother for a very flamboyantly colored lollypop and grimacing when he noticed a poor man purchasing a remodel of the Steoger 22lr Luger. He'd be feeling sorry for that when time came he had to clean the thing. The excited voice of a mechanic was advertising some new machinery to a small collection of curious onlookers across the street from a popular food stand and Vash supposed he might go and see what was so extravagant later. A group of gunslingers passed him, chewing on various forms of meat and screaming obscenities at one another as they fought over the bag of food some skinny guy had just bought. They reminded him of old Earth pit bulls.

He shoved another doughnut into his mouth and munched thoughtfully. This place was nice, would be nicer if all these misbehaving bounty hunters weren't here but still; beggars can't be choosers, right?

"So this guy we're huntn', what's his name again?" slurred a short, brown haired man with a caterpillar mustache. Vash's ear twitched and he turned his attention to the three men standing outside some kind of hostel across the street.

"Dumbass, his name's Chumash," spat his companion, a taller guy wearing a brown cowboy hat with six bullets and a card strapped to it.

The third stopped combing his little tuft of rebellious orange hair that colored his otherwise bald head and twisted his pierced face into an ugly display, wiggling his tattooed fingers at the smaller as he spoke, "they say he's a gun maniac who used to be you-know-who's most loyal henchman. He shot dead 200 people in a single night with a glock 33!"

Vash frowned, swallowing his doughnut thickly. He remembered all of that, actually. The limber man was pretty damn good with his guns, had had this deep-set infatuation with them ever since he was little. There was a particular type of weapon that Chumash was looking for, though, a gun that he was searching for specifically. Thinking it over he supposed that it might be the new gun that a mechanic named Michael Lillooet had come up with. Rumors said that it was a modified .454 casull that could be loaded with numerous types of bullets, including those that exploded on impact. It sounded like a troublesome piece of work to Vash but to others it was like gold.

His thoughts were rudely interrupted by a stab of pain surging over his abdomen like hot oil and he fought the urge to wince. Normally, he wouldn't have cared if he suddenly found himself in a town filled with bounty hunters. He knew he could escape if they all found out he was _the _legendary Vash the Stampede with a price of $$60 billion on his head and though he couldn't really say much for the damage he was 100% confident that no lives would be taken. This time though, with such a deep wound in his belly, it was best to avoid conflict. Especially if he was starting to get sick, as said by the pounding headache and brief bouts of dizziness he'd been suffering from.

Shifting a little he found himself wincing. God, getting skewered by a metal beam like that sure hurt like hell- even after spending a week recovering in a bed.* Although, the doctor would have preferred he stay for a straight month or more to ensure that he fully recovered. Sighing, he popped the last doughnut into his mouth and stood up.

"Well, I guess I should go and find a hotel or something," he said to himself with a satisfied grin, he could come back out and people watch later. With that decision made the Stampede turned, his red coat twisting around him and began his migration towards a local inn.

* * *

-_SY-0152, 9:51 PM-_

Vash tried to forget his exhaustion as he sat at the bar, nibbling slowly on a few salmon sandwiches.* It had taken only a few minutes to find a good hotel where he could rent out a rather nice room with a patio overlooking the city- at a brilliant price too. However, after he had dropped off his things, checked his wound, and left to go and further explore the city he'd been assaulted by some rather rowdy mechanics who were curious over the workings of his prosthetic arm. Even though it was covered by the special glove he had for it the blond still came across men with stunning perception, capable of discovering its presence despite its concealment. It was like the mechanics here had a sixth sense for machinery. He'd been almost literally attacked by them at least eight more times afterwards and now, because of their poking, the port was starting to ache. Even worse, because of his injury he wasn't allowed to have any sort of alcohol so he was forced to sit through the pain until it faded of its own accord. So much for that Oak Chardonnay he'd been looking forward to.

A boisterous howl exploded out from across the bar, a table of bounty hunters bursting into laughter. Some brunette haired skinny guy was dancing like a loon on one of the tables, the bartender shouting at him when he knocked glassware off it. A game of poker was silently passing from within the dark confines of a corner nearby. Still chewing on his sandwich Vash ducked away from the large man beside him, braid swinging dangerously as he whirled around. Consequently, he almost bumped into the short, complicated looking fellow sitting beside him and sipping some red wine. Making a face he swallowed the last mouthful and called over the angry bartender.

"Thanks for the meal," he smiled and passed the man his pay. He received a nod in reply but that was it. Vash turned away from his seat just in time to avoid getting hit by a glass of bourbon, watching as it shattered across the counter top and sparing a glance to the muscled black man who'd thrown it. After discerning that he had no part in the argument between the red-vested individual and the blonde he began to remove himself from the saloon. His dinner had been so 'undisturbed' that he almost felt as though he'd missed something, that his day wasn't complete until a mass brawl of some kind had been caused. Stepping around a strange, double-faced brute with an enormous black hat, the blond haired man finally stepped out into the night.

He sucked in a breath of cool air, shoving his hands into his pockets. Briefly taking account of his surroundings in search of any suspicious characters whom may have finally recognized him, the $$60 billion man took a step forward.

"Hey you," and promptly stopped. Withholding an irate sigh, Vash turned to a teen wearing a grease stained black coverall. A buckskin tool belt strapped various alan wrenches, screwdrivers, hammers, and a few bottles of grease and oil to either hip. His brunette hair was pulled back into a short, spiky pony tail, skewered by various screws and nails of different sizes and around his neck hung a pair of yellow tinted goggles.

The blond smiled, "yeah?"

"Sorry, but could you hold out your left arm for me a sec?"

_Oh come on! _

He tilted his head to the side innocently, "eh? whatever for?"

The teen scrubbed the back of his head with a gloved hand. "Well, something just caught my eye about it is all," he said rather sheepishly, "I just thought something looked loose is all."

…_Eh?_

"…sorry?" was all that Vash could think of to say in reply. That was certainly not something he'd heard today. Yeah, he'd had mechanics harassing him about the piece of innovative machinery numerous times today but none of them had found any _fault _in it. Hell, if he let them get too absorbed in it he feared they might just rip it off and try to make duplicates of it. This thing wasn't made with the intention of having a quick release button, it took a real expert to get it off of him. It hurt enough to stun even him for a while when it was torn off like the time he'd fought Monev. The only thing that had saved him from being an easy kill at that time had been the billowing sand-clouds pushed up by the blast.

"Just come over here and I'll show you," the teen said and strode towards a picketed light across the street where they would be better secluded from the boisterous bar. "Roll up your sleeve for me?" he asked and Vash gave him a good mannered but hesitant look.

"It-" he began to protest but the brunette cut him off.

"I'm not like all those sewer rats around here and I'm not going to swoon or shower it with glory as I'll assume most already have. I just want to fix it quick, I swear," he said honestly. The Stampede studied him for a while and after a hundred-and-fifty-two years of experience decided that he was alright he sighed and pulled the metal arm from his pocket. "Thank you," the mechanic said, seeming relieved.

Unbuckling his glove and rolling it back as much as the leather would allow, the blond gunslinger asked, "you're welcome…?"

"Michael, but my friends call me Lillo," Lillo explained, taking a hold of the cold metal and missing the brief flash of recognition in the older man's eyes. Vash could feel his calloused hands coming into contact with the limb, the young engineer treating his arm with the care of a mechanic in silent awe. He resisted a smile, the brunette was trying to keep a completely straight face but he could vividly see the fascination sparkling in his eyes.

There were various other types of prosthetic limbs on this planet but no one had yet figured out how to connect the radial nerves together, the brain fooling them in its refusal to connect with something it could not recognize. Thankfully, not all information on the process was wiped away in the Great Fall and the suspended ship that held his 'family' had become quite the experts. As a result, the prosthetic arm that he had on his person was probably one of the most mechanically advanced things that this planet had to offer. And of course, how could he have an arm if he didn't know how to fix it himself? At least, to some extent. Vash was well versed in removing and reattaching the lightweight, heat-resistant limb and he knew well how to clean it- although both tasks were a major pain in the ass. It was sort of amusing to him how he held the most expensive, complex, and innovative technology on his shoulder and yet there was no _easy _way to get the damn thing off.

"Ah, you're the one that Chumash is trying to steal from, then?" he asked quietly. Leaning over his arm the brunette gave a small, distracted nod, bending this way and that in attempts to see past his own shadow.

"Damn these lights," he finally hissed and pulled out a small flashlight. Clicking it on, he pointed the silver thing towards a small hexagonal screw jutting out a little more than it should on Vash's arm. "Ah, here we are," Lillo smiled triumphantly.

"Come on babes," rumbled a familiar voice, "just a couple a' drinks won't hurt anyone!"

"Sorry," replied a second voice, exacerbating the outlaw's sense of familiarity by several times, "but we can't." Turning his gaze towards the voices he found himself watching the big man whom he'd fooled earlier that day harassing two woman; one with black hair and a white mantel and the other blonde with at least a foot and a half over her companion. Meryl and Millie?!

"It'll be fun," the hulking bounty hunter insisted, slinging an arm around the two insurance agents' shoulders.

Lillo, who had removed one of his wrenches, had stopped and was looking out at the scene with a disdainful eye, "nothing but muscle, the lot of them."

Vash was about to call out to the guy, knowing the wrath that he would receive in doing so could be used as a great distraction but before he could a priest wearing a big clothed cross on his back intervened first.

"I think the ladies want to be left alone," Wolfwood advised and the Stampede nearly lost his jaw in shock. What were the odds that they'd all gather in this particular town, intersect at this particular street, at this particular hour, under these _peculiar_ circumstances? About 15%, that's what.

"Hah?" the bulky man growled savagely and leaned towards him, "get lost skinny man, this ain't got nothin' to do with chu." Was this guy drunk or had he just hit his head since this afternoon?

"Mr. Priest!" Millie cried jubilantly.

"As a holy man it's my job to help protect the innocent from such poorly tempered animals," the black haired man retorted with a smirk.

A vein snapped on the gorilla's forehead and he pushed the two girls away just as Meryl reached for one of her derringers, "why you-!"

Before he could say any more Wolfwood slammed the top of his cross upside the goliath's head, throwing him back towards the shadows between Saloon and Inn hard enough to topple him. A few moments of pause filled the air between them, untouched by the drunken shouting of other bounty hunters having a good time around the two men.

"Thank you Mr. Priest," Millie said, walking over to the black haired man with Meryl beside her.

"No problem," he grinned. Nodding his satisfaction, Lillo returned to his task of attending the blonde's arm but Vash wasn't quite settled yet and he continued to watch closely.

"So? Did you find anything out about you-know-who?" Meryl asked suspiciously and Vash _knew_ she was talking about him.

At this the Priest huffed in frustration, "he's a damn difficult one to track, that's all I can really tell you right now." The Stamped was far less concerned with their reasons for hunting him down the moment he saw the hulking shadow rising behind them, shotgun in hand and aimed towards the priest.

"Pardon me," he said to Lillo, tearing the wrench free from his hands and hurling it across the street. With frightening force it ripped through the air and plunged into the brute's forehead exactly where Wolfwood had previously hit him with his crucifix. Blood spurted from the wound and the monster stood there for a moment, stunned and wobbling before tilting back and smashing into the alleyway behind.

"-Ah! Ma'am, look it's Mr. V-"

Vash witnessed Meryl jumping onto Millie and clasping a hand over her friend's mouth to stop her from saying his complete name, a thoroughly amusing sight.

"Oh, nice support, Tongari!" Wolfwood greeted from afar, actually seeming quite a bit relieved to see his friend despite his efforts at appearing casual. The blond grinned largely in welcome as the three made their way towards him from across the street. Pain burst through his head a second later and something tugged his ear down.

"The hell do you think you're doing, doofus?! That's my best wrench you just threw over there!" Lillo screamed into his eardrum.

Vash grinned sheepishly, "ah, sorry, sorry, but I didn't have anything else-"

"If you're going to throw shit throw that custom .45 caliber Long Colt not my goddamn wrenches!" the mechanic continued.

"Here," an amused Wolfwood handed Lillo his tool. Huffing the man retrieved his precious item and then yanked Vash's arm over again, making the skin where the port was attached ache even more.

"Ow, ow, ow," he whined and then slumped a bit in submission, frowning at the brunette as he set the flashlight between his teeth and kept a firm grip on his arm.

Meryl glanced between the two in a manner not unlike Wolfwood, who held an eyebrow raised and watched with a cigarette drooping out of his mouth.

Millie leaned forwards, not seeming to care if she was being overt about her curiosity, "what's wrong? Did something happen to your arm?" she asked.

"Just a loose hex screw," Vash reassured her.

Lillo grabbed the small screw with the wrench and began turning it to the right, the motion smooth and careful. His shoulders were still a little stiff with his previous irritation but he'd calmed rapidly already.

"Really? 'Cause I could have sworn you had some other things loose too," Nick grinned wolfishly.

Vash jerked and shot back indignantly, "you're just as bad as I am!" Lillo tapped his wrench against the blonde's arm and then removed his flashlight from between his teeth. The Stampede observed the brunette's focus for a time, aware that he was still examining the artificial limb even as an irate Meryl began to speak.

"God, we search everywhere for you for almost a straight week and here we find you messing around with a mechanic. And don't even tell me you have anything to do with the bounty!" her voice was threatening and exasperated, eyes sparkling as she glared at him.

"Excuse me!" Lillo cried, offended, "I _asked_ him to let me look at his arm. Not the other way around! And my _name _is Lillooet!"

Startled Meryl straightened, "Ah, sorry."

Vash grinned at her, still aware of each action the mechanic took.

"Oh stop it," she scowled again and there was this brief emotion of relief and concern in her eye, as though she wasn't quite convinced that he was alright even though he stood directly in front of her, "do you know how far we had to go to look for you?"

He didn't stop grinning, "I can come up with an idea. But," he looked at Wolfwood, "why are you with them?"

The priest shrugged, "we ran into each other in a Saloon at San Miguel and they paid for my meal when I couldn't afford it. I couldn't think of any other way to pay them back for it then help out with the search."

"He's been a great help," Millie said enthusiastically, "it would have taken us much longer to find you if it hadn't been for him."

Wolfwood laughed, "you're flattering, Big Girl!"

"If you keep that up I'll never finish this," Lillo interrupted sourly and Vash looked down at him. He'd focused anew on a screw nearer to the Stampede's elbow now and was fiddling a little with the tightness. Every time he attempted to adjust the torque, however, the outlaw would move and the metal plates would slide together a little. In doing so the screw would become slightly covered and he was unable to fit the screwdriver he was now using into the slots on its head.

"Hmm? I thought you said there was only one," Vash pointed out and received a glare in return.

"Well, there was another one," Lillo muttered, appearing as though he was a little embarrassed by the discovery. Something suddenly caught the Stampede's attention and with a start he pulled his arm away from the mechanic's grip.

"Va-?" Meryl began, catching herself just in time, "V-Vasquez?" He jerked a little and sent the nervous woman an offended look. _Is that really the best you could come up with?_ his expression seemed to say. The panels along the arm's bicep were tighter than he knew they should be and there was a strangely painful resistance when he attempted the first stages of his arm's transformation to its weapon form. Being a plant he was capable of activating the mechanisms that would trigger its release with a bit of his own energy and over the years had gained full control of the speed with which he could make such happen. At times he might even play a little bit with the inner workings, move some of the hydraulic valves inside back and forth when he got bored but at this moment he wasn't able to make any part of the mechanical arm budge.

Lillo frowned and scratched his head, "it's too tight, I figured that would be the case. But you can never be too sure about this kind of lost technology."

Vash allowed the shorter man to retake his arm, all three of his companions watching with piqued curiosity. They'd never had the chance to see the outlaw's arm in such a way before, it'd never been so exposed on any other occasion and now they even had a knowledgeable mechanic to point out things they never would have noticed themselves. The exacerbated throbbing in his arm lifted a little when Lillo fixed his previous mistake but after the fiddling it had once again been subject to the port was causing a louder discomfort to the gunman. Vash would have to look at it himself when he got back to his hotel after all the attention it had received today, just to be sure that someone hadn't fiddled _too _much.

"Sometime you should let me take a proper look at this thing, I keep seeing small errors here and there but just like with this little guy-" he tapped the screw, "I can't be sure." Lillo seemed a little reluctant to release the incredible work of machinery before him, as any mechanic would be, but didn't cause any fuss and for that Vash was grateful.

Laughing and rolling down his sleeve, the blond asked with hints of sarcasm in his tone, "should I really?"

The brunette scowled, "I live at the Easy Grease three blocks to the left of the main road. If you have any trouble I'll be there. Goodnight."

"Thanks for the help, Lillo!" Vash called after the irate, and also semi-mortified, mechanic as he jogged down the road. "Well," he turned to the three companions waiting for him, "have you guys found an Inn yet?"

* * *

-_SY-0152, 10:44 PM-_

There are certain decisions that Vash whole-heartedly considers to be the worst. Like eating a cactus without removing the spines first or using whipped cream instead of shaving cream in the morning. Stupid things like sitting on a fulcrum or using a hammer against a screw. The list was endless, as it rightly should be for a 152 year old man who's seen and done many, many things.

Right now the simple concept of getting up fell under that category rather nicely. He was warm and comfortable in his sheets, belly contentedly full, and he was clean after the shower he'd taken. Best of all he could barely hear the roars of wild mayhem occurring outside. His sense of time was still dazed with sleep but it'd probably been only a few hours since he'd met up with Meryl, Millie, and Wolfwood. The three of them had arrived in town a day or so ahead of him and since then had been meticulously poking around for him, not wanting to get the attention of any hasty bounty hunters. Ironically enough, the hotel they were staying in was right across the street from the one that Vash had gotten a room at.

He sucked in a gratified breath and stretched out a little bit more, ignoring the angry throbbing in his abdomen and focusing his attention on the absence of distress in his mechanical arm. He'd examined the limb-weapon as best he could after his shower, double-checking all the tiny little screws and even going as far as taking a bit of it apart to examine important pinions, worm gears, and ball bearings inside- by passing the hidden gun and more complex wires he couldn't understand. His only real issue so far was a dent in the valve attached to a small metal cam placed near his elbow, probably something to do with the meddling of another mechanic that afternoon. It'd been a bit of a head scratcher trying to figure out what Lillo had been talking about when he said he kept finding errors, perhaps he _should _pay the man a visit.

Satisfied with all his other findings on the mechanical thing he'd decided to turn it in a little earlier than normal for the night. Around so many bounty hunters it had been important to keep up a false bravado, the act of pretending to be energetic only further sapping his strength as the evening wore on. Completely drained, Vash was practically falling over the boarder of sleep as he lay in his hotel bed, no more conscious of his surroundings than a drunken rhino. At a later time he would wonder what had more influence; his own sleep deprivation or the pain killers Dr. Suspicious had given him before he let him leave New April.

The sleepy Stampede shifted, another pleased sigh escaping his lips and the sheet covering his frame slipping a ways down his scarred body. A light click sounded near his left ear. Vash's groggy brain supposed it may be from his arm and wrote it off as nothing more, shutting down and spiraling ever closer to sleep. His typically appetent instincts felt smothered but he was oddly okay with that, even as a light tapping sound moved into his other ear. Breath still steady he was unphased by the fingers that touched his middle, allowing them to wander just a little. They gently pushed into his skin in search of a wound and for several moments Vash felt no pain produced by the movement. But just when he was beginning to grow used to it they suddenly prodded right into his wound. His body moved before his brain could properly catch up with it. Fueled by adrenaline, he brought forwards his knee and slammed into the intruder's jaw. The other's head was forced up and over by the movement in time for Vash's fist to next connect with his nose and send him falling back away from the bed.

"God Damnit, Tongari, what the hell?!" a familiar voice demanded but Vash was hardly able to pay attention past the agony swelling in his abdomen. He hadn't felt pain of such intensity for years, not since the last wound that had to be closed with a metal slate and he almost had to wonder what it might be like _without _the painkillers. It had him practically writhing on his bed now, incomparable to the way it had been mere moments ago. It was like he was being skewered again. He could faintly hear someone talking to him but wasn't quite able to make out the words just yet, nothing aside from philistine gibberish reached him.

Luckily, the horrible pain subsided within a few minutes, perhaps because of the medication he had taken. Breathing hard he lay on his back with calloused hands holding his shoulders down, a thin layer of sweat covering his body. "Christ," a voice above him hissed, "this is really bad. Only an idiot like you would choose to move around with this kind of wound, dammit."

Several minutes passed before he reined in his breathing and when he'd finally managed to calm his heart he had to wrestle with the desire to sleep again. There was someone in the room now, he could not doubt nor ignore that anymore. He pushed aside the angelic call of a well-deserved hibernation and briefly convinced his eyes to open half-way. He found Wolfwood standing above him, a thread of blood trailing out of his nose and a look of apprehensive irritation on his face.

"Oh," he murmured, voice laden with exhaustion, "mornin' Wolfwood." The dark haired priest's lower eye twitched a bit and he growled at him.

"How the hell did you get this wound, Tongari?" he demanded, closing the proximity between the two and grating his teeth together. But Vash was beginning to fall asleep again, eyelids fluttering and threatening to close. It was like wrestling with a sandworm, he just couldn't get away from it. Wolfwood's voice wasn't much better either as the rough, accented sound had pressed his "headache switch" and now a drummer began to make terribly painful music with his brain.

"Geddoff," he carped slowly then took a deep breath as though in preparation for his next sentence, "your breath smells like something crawled into your mouth and died there."

"Hmph," Wolfwood was still sour as he moved away to grab a nearby chair to sit in, "you were practically skipping earlier, where the hell did all of your energy go?" Apparently it didn't matter that Vash was still half asleep and clearly in no state for conversation as the younger sat waiting for a lucid response. He cupped a hand around his cigarette and fed the butt a flame.

He waited a while but when Vash didn't say anything he felt a vein ticking on his forehead, like the red hand on an old clock. The 'priest' examined his friend's face, taking in the bruises under his eyes and the ivory white skin of his face. In only a few short hours he'd gone from being healthy and perky as hell to looking like a man on his death bed. Was he blind or could Vash just be a genius at hiding the true extent of his injuries? Letting lose a defeated sigh he muttered a curse under his breath.

"Fine."

Vash smiled gratefully at him, seeming to have a little more success over his argument with exhaustion. He lifted an arm to his face and released a long, groggy breath. It blew past his lips in a way not unlike steam from a sandsteamer as he used his flesh hand to rub what he could of the sleep from his eyes.

"What is it?" he groaned and yawned, a little more lucid now, "can't you leave a guy to his well-deserved nap?"

Wolfwood didn't seem amused by his attempt at humor, "I _was _going to ask if you wanted a drink," he glanced at Vash's bandages, "but if you have a wound like that I suppose I can't." He waited for some sort of protest but received none, instead forced to watch Vash attempt to sit himself up in silence.

At last unable to continue watching his friend torture himself he reached over and set a hand on his shoulder, gently pushing him back down, "go back to sleep, Tongari." But by this time the outlaw had managed to push away the tantalizing prospect of sweet sleep and was set on his new task.

Vash waved him away, "Hold on," he groaned a little, "I need to go and lock the door so the drug addict three doors down doesn't come in and steal anything."

Nick blinked at him, "hah?"

Working through his stiffness he forced himself to stand up and move towards the door, "yeah," he yawned, "Dr. Schroder wouldn't let me go until I took a few things with me and that guy caught wind of them almost as soon as I stepped into the hotel today. He's been scoping this place out for a while."

_And yet you were fast asleep when I walked in_, Wolfwood thought with a line of sweat dripping past his hairline as he remembered how close he'd managed to get to the other before Vash attacked him.

"Come to think of it," the door clicked as his friend jabbed at the lock, "how did _you_ get in here?"

The worldly man held up a gleaming key, "I got the manager to give me a key," he explained. Vash made an 'o' shape with his lips in understanding and sat back down on his bed, leaning back and falling onto the unkempt sheets behind with a sigh and a pained flinch. He didn't need to ask how his friend had managed to convince said manager to hand the spare key over.

For a time silence dominated the room, only broken by the sound of howls outside and the occasional steps passing in the hall. They sat in companionable muteness until Nick got up and opened a window to release the smoke that had begun to stink up the room. He glanced over to the outlaw who hadn't moved even as the sounds of drunken jubilance drifted in from the streets. He puffed out a ball of smoke and swallowed, knowing that his companion wasn't yet asleep.

"Why did you come here?" Nick finally asked, unable to fathom why the most wanted man in the galaxy would come to a town overpopulated by bounty hunters with such a wound.

"I wanted to do some sight-seeing," replied Vash, his eyes remaining closed.

The priest scoffed, obviously not believing a word of it but didn't press the matter any further and let his eyes roam the busy road beneath. The soundless breath of silence danced around them once again, but now it seemed tight with tension.

"'All these comanches,'" Vash muttered under his breath from on the bed, completely at random to Wolfwood but perfectly sensible to the blond. It was probably the drugs- wait, it was _definitely _the drugs. His thoughts were running in circles, constantly rotating back to a time from ten years ago. Intelligent dark eyes, scruffy black hair with a thick white line down the middle, chiseled features and shadowed stubble. Vash stared up the hotel ceiling, looking straight through it as he remembered. Flashes, blurted images rudely interrupting his focus with happy laughter and angry shouting, gun shots and "_what the actual hell, Vash?!_"s. His favorite black checkered bandana always wrapped around his neck and the thick buckle boots. Flashy chains and duel desert eagles, the cocky grin and finger-less gloves. A rumbly voice, native to a different language altogether and a studded eyebrow. Sweat pouring from a face so much it looked as though it was melting under the sun.

The outlaw could faintly feel the eyes of a wolf watching him from the window but he didn't move, couldn't really. Ah, he was tired again. Falling into the pit of darkness, engulfed inside the belly of sleep he never heard Wolfwood say to his cigarette; "secretive asshole."

* * *

-_SY-0152, 12:27 PM-_

The priest sighed out a breath of toxin into the night air. Below him a line of men stumbled down the road singing a song he didn't know in off key glee. Across from them a hooker was drawing in her next victim with sugary kisses and sweet words. Meryl and Millie had already gone to bed across the street, tired from a day of thorough, meticulous investigation. He probably should get to sleep too or at least get something to drink but…

The black haired man glanced over his shoulder at the blond in the bed. The medication he'd taken before-hand had pushed the individual to sleep several hours ago and this time Wolfwood had waited longer to make _sure _the asshole was really asleep. But now, 60 minutes since the priest had properly laid his friend out across the sheets so he wasn't half on the bed and half off the Stampede appeared to be in pain. Sweat beaded down his furrowed brow and in one hand he clenched the white fabric in a vice grip. It was poignant to watch the powerful and always-so-strong man pull his head back into the downy pillow and moan in pain. Whatever it was that doctor gave him it didn't seem to be working very well.

Dr. Schroder had been an odd-ball kind of character, at least he was from Wolfwood's perspective at the time. The town hadn't been particularly large nor had it been all that small either, and yet the short doctor had been running around attending to various people as though _everyone _was wounded/sick/both. Or at least, that was what he had told them.

When he, Meryl, and Millie had come to that town in search for the blond man they had rather immediately come across a telling of his most recent 'adventure.' Well, that wasn't quite true, they caught a few vague whispers about a boy getting captured by a less than merciful gang that had taken to terrorizing the people and had been saved by a tall man with a red coat and blond-black hair. They'd heard at a local tavern by a distraught seeming bar-maid that the man, Vash, had been mortally wounded and probably wouldn't live. Wolfwood had practically dropped his cigarette in shock when he'd heard that the guy had been _impaled. _

"_H-he what?" _had been Meryl's breathless response.

"_Mr. Vash has…?"_ he could never recall ever seeing such a pathetic look cross Millie's face either.

The doctor himself had been furious over the matter. From what little time they had had with him he'd told them about the insane risk to Vash's life and how the idiot had chosen to leave after spending only a week recovering. With wounds like that a person had to be bedridden for at _least _three weeks before they could be allowed to move around. Briefly, Dr. Schroder explained to them the severity of his wounds, how to keep a vigilant eye on him when they found him, and finally where he'd supposedly gone to. It hadn't taken them as long to arrive as it had Vash probably because they had enough money to get a bus whereas the wounded _dumbass_ had bloody _walked _half the trip before boarding a sandsteamer_. _Of course they didn't know that when they first got here yesterday and so had spent all that time with scrupulous searching.

To be completely honest, Wolfwood hadn't actually believed the doctor. Having taken some time to better think about it on the bus he'd realized that it might have just been an exaggeration or maybe the doctor had underestimated Vash's strength and the guy healed super-fast, he was a plant after all. It certainly didn't help his trust in the man's words when he and the girls finally _did _find the idiot with that mechanic, all smiles and seemingly perfect health. His movements showed no sign injury at all so it was understandable when they all became a little relieved. As foolish as he realized such a thing was around Vash.

He spread his gaze across the room to the individual struggling within the sheets. Why the hell would that idiot come here? Not even _Vash _would do something so foolish, so why? Spitting out his cigarette with a curse he picked himself up and sauntered over to the bed, glaring down his nose at the wanted bounty. What was this guy's _deal_?

Vash clenched his teeth and pursed his lips together, groaning again. The sweat on his forehead catching the light drifting in from the patio, making each droplet glisten brightly. Wolfwood had thrown the lights off about an hour an 30 minutes ago now, fine with sitting in the darkness while this moron slept. Said moron pulled back his shoulders just a little bit, exposing his adam's apple when he stretched out his sweaty neck and sucked in a raspy breath.

"Rem..?" the Stampede moaned and Nick winced irritably, resisting the urge to smack the man. Rather, he slapped a palm into his forehead and released a moan of his own.

"God_damn_, why do you have to be such an _enigma_?!" he hissed tiredly. This guy, _this guy_ was like a child who left the tap running all day wasting precious water. Just mentioning the name; Vash the Stampede drained the poor preacher half a tank of energy. Black clad shoulders slumped and, without moving his head, he looked back down with another sigh. The sheets rose and fell slowly, if perhaps a bit jerkily, a worrisome blush had taken across his face. "This is going to kill me," he told himself assuredly and leaned down, setting a cupped hand over the blonde's forehead. Even the 'great' Wolfwood felt unsure of himself around the Stampede when he was in such an unaware state as this; if he startled the guy too badly he could wake up and shoot him in the face this time! Vash twitched and Nick almost backpedaled when he felt the heat beneath his palm _rise _a little bit, white feathers creeping off the bedridden gunman.

"Shit," he cursed, "shit, shit, shit!" Then, with a small gust of wind, the feathers dispersed and took Vash's fever with them. Several minutes passed with Wolfwood being unable to do anything more than stare in bewilderment at the forever alien individual before him. So that's how that worked then. He leaned back on his heels to keep himself from falling face-first into the white sheets and heaved out his millionth sigh.

God, this was stressful.

* * *

-_SY-0152, 6:09 AM-_

The following morning Vash the Stampede awoke to find himself listening to the sound of another snoring. Rather immediately following this was the beginning growth of what would later become one of those your-brain-will-implode-it-hurts-so-bad kind of headaches. When he peeled open his sore, sunken-in eyes he discovered the shadowed form of a sound asleep preacher seated beside him. He smiled fondly at the tired man who probably hadn't left his side at all the night before and with an effort rose silently from the wet sheets, trying not to grunt in pain at the protests his sore, cramped muscles spoke. Damn, he was covered in sweat too. Stepping into the bathroom he yawned and turned on the shower. His fever must have built and broken at least seven times last night, geeze.

It took about ten minutes for Vash to finish his shower, meticulously scrubbing around the metal work that made up about 75-fricken-percent of his body before turning it off and stepping out into the steamy room. From there it also took about ten minutes to dry everything off. Including the time it took to treat his wound it probably ended up taking Vash about twenty-five to thirty minutes in there. And yet when he stepped out Wolfwood was _still _sleeping by the bed. He glanced at the comatose preacher with a sympathetic eye and then turned his attention outside.

Ah, it was still like six AM, that's why. It was nice to know that even with this wound he could still wake up on schedule. The blond gunslinger shook his head and promptly stumbled hard, reeling into the nearest wall when his sense of equilibrium was thrown off by the movement. Ok, he decided, this is just about enough. He was tired, his stomach was churning, his side was throbbing, he had a headache, he felt like he was going to throw up and the shower he had just taken had done _nothing _to make him feel better. Rather he felt worse. He supposed this is what Dr. Schroder had meant when he'd said "side-effects."

He could feel one of his younger sisters press her mind against his in worry, sending him waves of bright green anxiousness. The three of them had been busy little things recently, creating all kinds of meals and supplying the growing town with water. He hoped it wouldn't be much longer until Chumash arrived; if all these bounty hunters stayed he feared for his siblings.

_I'm okay, _he told her, _just a little sick is all._ Irritated by his obviously evasive maneuver she gave his mind a hard poke, provoking his headache. _Ow, ow, ow, okay maybe I'm a little injured as well!_ She performed the plant equivalent of a huff and gave his mind a good shove, pushing him away. Confused, he began to ask her what was wrong but before he could finish she was forced to return to her work. Though, he could faintly tell she wanted to make him come by her bulb so she could give him some energy.

Biting his lip the Stampede stumbled across the room, making his way towards the black duffel propped up against the wall and removing the pill bottle he had taken. Popping open the cap he dumped two small orange capsules into his palm and swallowed them dry. Leaving the bottle in his bag he zipped it up again and proceeded towards the door. Maybe some fresh air would help.

* * *

_-SY-0152, 6:47 AM-_

A few minutes later he was leaning over the side of the hotel roof, breathing in the morning air as though it was the first time he'd been outside in 150 years. Admittedly he was feeling much better, but now that his head was clearing unwanted thoughts had begun to race around his head. He ran a hand through blond-black locks of hair and sighed, breath filling out before him as a vaguely white puff in the retreating freeze of a cold desert night. He leaned back to gaze at the disappearing flecks of stars wondering how much longer he would last before the gnawing decay snuffed him out too. His hair had become blacker recently, creeping up from the back of his head and swallowing the healthy blond like a pestilence. Vash the Stampede's body was giving out on him and he knew it: the wound in his side would be much farther along the healing process if his health was at its peak.

If he wanted to take care of Knives it had to be soon.

And yet there remained others who required his attention as well. Vash swallowed, his expression becoming troubled as he pondered the obsolete conundrum that had ravaged his mind for so long.

Yawning, the $$60 billion man shook his head. He was in Dullport to see the sights, the people were full of life and dexterity similar to the robust machines that they built. The markets and streets held an interesting culture to them that had developed quite nicely since his last visit and the gunman had been eager to see, taste, smell, feel, experience the seeded changes that the ever-growing race of humanity had grown.

Even so, business followed him wherever he seemed to go.

A light broke out across his face suddenly, temporarily blinding the Stampede but he didn't hide behind a raised hand. Squinting for a moment he took only a few heartbeats to grow accustomed to the appearance of the first sun on the horizon. Orange streaks soared across the baby blue, accompanied by a vibrant yellow and startling peach. A beautiful white star peaking over the horizon threw out color across the sky as carelessly as a child tossed fistfuls of sand into the air. Vash watched, his inner turmoil easing at the beautiful sight. A soft smile warmed his face and green-blue eyes closed a little when the second sun made its appearance as well. It was an almost fatherly expression that softened his face as he watched the twins chase away the night. With both suns now illuminating the sky there were splinters of dazzling ruby red shooting over the sands far off into the distance. Like skinny beauties frozen in the most impressive of positions across the sand, the scarlet dancers grew shorter as each sun rose. The shadows cast by various sand dunes painted tuxedo-clad dance partners for their crimson counter parts, seeming to conduct a slow-motion waltz together.

Cool and comforting, a breeze brushed its fingers across his face. Closing his eyes Vash straightened and lifted his chin to meet it. Unable to resist he opened his mouth and sang;

"_So, on the first evening, a pebble from somewhere drops upon the world,_" the words rolled from his tongue like gospel from a preacher's lips. It was all memorized, as though it had been sung a thousand and one times, down to the last word's pitch. His voice held the melody perfectly, rising and falling over each syllable with a grace and experienced touch that many heard in professional singers. "_So, on the second evening, all the children of their pebble hold hands and compose a waltz,_" a truly pleased smile spread across his face as easily as warm butter over bread. "_Sound life-"_

"So this is where you were," a familiar voice interrupted.

The blond smiled but didn't turn around to greet Wolfwood, unperturbed by his intrusion, "it's nice, isn't it?"

A rush of air and a moan was the preacher's response, "it's too bloody early, that's what it is."

A calmed breath filled Vash's lungs and he pictured Wolfwood yawning behind him with his customary black sunglasses on his face, hiding him from the sun. He didn't reply though, knowing that if Nick didn't want to be out here with him he would go back inside. His friend made a beeline across the roof until he was standing beside the Stampede, looking out at the rising suns. There was an unspoken question passed between them, a curiosity that wanted to know why Vash did this every morn regardless of where he was.

"I just don't want to miss it," he explained tacitly. There weren't really words he could use to explain it properly to the younger, much younger, man. For all the accusations Wolfwood made about being naïve Vash understood just how backwards it was. The guy was innocent, far more innocent than he knew because he honestly thought the world was as simple as the phrase; "eat or be eaten." He thought he'd seen the world but he had not, he'd only seen part of it. A shadow cannot be cast without a light, but like a black spot on a white page it is the darkness that people first see.

He was disappointed by the silent disagreement that thickened the air and resisted the temptation to shake his head. Someday he would understand, but not today.

Silence became prominent allowing Vash to listen to the rising life beneath them, another reason why he liked to wake up and watch the suns rise. Down the road a mother was whapping dust off a large sheet, a couple of bounty hunters lumbered up the street talking amongst themselves, and he could smell the scent of fresh bakery rising from the nearest market.

"You didn't come here to sight-see, Vash," Wolfwood broke through his thoughts for the second time that morning, "what are you really here for?" He looked up at the black haired man and watched him stick a cigarette between his teeth, "you're making the insurance girl nervous."

Pouting childishly Vash stuck his chin in the air, not needing to ask _which_ insurance girl, and said, "what's wrong with me wanting to look around a little? Honestly."

"Because wherever you go you cause problems," his friend huffed.

"I can't help that!" he retorted. "If anything, the trouble only gets worse when you're around. You're like a black cat with that suit, Wolfwood."

"Don't shift the blame, you asshole!" the other spat indignantly.

"I'm not shifting anything, you're as guilty as I am, just admit it," Vash retorted, pulling himself away from the railing and making his way back inside. The morning bliss he'd been experiencing had ended with that. And so the day begins…

* * *

_-SY-0152, 7:12 AM-_

Meryl and Millie were waiting for them when the arguing duo walked out of the Inn, prepared to drag Vash off to eat with them regardless of what he had planned. There had been a few errands he had wanted to run before breakfast but it didn't seem as though he had a choice now so he smiled and went along with them to eat. The shops were just beginning to open now and they were lucky to find an open restaurant a few blocks away.

With a plate of doughnuts set in front of him the outlaw began to munch on his food, forcing himself to keep a more even pace and avoid upsetting his recovering stomach in the process.

"So many doughnuts cannot be good for you," Meryl pointed out from across him, a cup of instant coffee cradled in her left hand.

"Maybe," he muttered around the pastry in his mouth, "but they're affordable and they taste good, so what's the problem?"

"He's right, sempai," Milly grinned, having snagged a doughnut for herself from Vash's plate and ignoring her own breakfast, "they _are _good!"

"Hey, I never said you could have that!" he yelped.

But the blonde girl only laughed, crumbs falling away from her face and seeming no less cheery, "aha, sorry!"

Vash looked unconvinced, "are you?"

Meryl chose to resolve the situation by slapping him upside the head, reaching somewhat awkwardly across the table, "it's only a doughnut." He whined a little but let it go without demanding a reimbursement doughnut this time. The elder insurance girl's blow had been rather light and he had not failed to notice the way she watched him, as though expecting him to flinch.

He swallowed his next doughnut just in time to yawn, the headache he'd chased away beginning to return regardless of the care Meryl had put into her blow.

"So, what do you girls have planned for today?" he asked casually, smiling brightly and stuffing another into his mouth.

"We'll be doing whatever you'll be doing, Mr. Vash," came Milly's response.

He twitched, face paling a little, and looked to Meryl. He already knew that Wolfwood would be tailing him at some point today, did he really have to put up with the girls as well?

The short woman didn't return his glance, instead sipping her cup of coffee. "It _is_ our job to follow you."

A nervous smile slid onto his face as he finished his last doughnut, "but isn't this more like stalking?" he muttered. Meryl once again treated him to a thwack upside the head, unknowingly exacerbating his headache. Pouting childishly he rubbed the sore bump forming over the abused area. He looked to Wolfwood for help as he finally approached with a sandwich in hand, having parted with them to find his own meal elsewhere.

"No way," the priest immediately brought his hands up in surrender, "don't drag me into this, this is your problem." A sigh of defeat burst from Vash's lips as his last hope was ripped away and he dropped his head, like a heavy ball being thrown towards the earth but unable to land. He had to close his eyes to ward off the dizzy spell the sudden movement created.

Wolfwood scooted into the booth beside him, eying the expression his friend wore and noting the way he held his eyes closed a little longer than he usually would have.

"So what do _you _have planned to do today, Mr. Vash?" asked Milly as though the humanoid typhoon wasn't wallowing his own self-pity.

His defeated posture unchanging the Stampede replied with an almost exasperated tone; "just a few errands, that's all."

"What_ kind_ of errands?" Meryl pressed, finishing her coffee and leaning forward over the table to glare at him. He better not be doing anything dangerous today…

"The errand kind of errand," he said evasively and changed the subject before she could try and squeeze the details out of him. "What about you, are you going to stalk me too?" he asked Wolfwood, dodging Meryl's whack as though in the past few minutes he'd become a Meryl-dodging professional.

"Not till later," the priest took a bite of his sandwich and Vash caught the smell of fresh ketchup, "I have a few things I need to do first. But I'll be back to babysit you in the afternoon."

"Since when did the three of you become such creepy people?" Vash asked with a look on his face that said he already knew the answer.

Milly, however, looked a little confused. "Are we really that creepy?" she asked Meryl, mouth half full of the last scrambled eggs on her plate.

Her sempai could only sigh, "no, Milly, he's just a wimp."

"What?" Vash whined, pulling out his wallet and leaving a few bills beneath his plate for the poor waiter to find, "that's a little mean, don't you think?" The senior Bernadelli insurance advisor only gave him a look, sliding out of her seat behind Milly.

"I'll just come out and find you later," Wolfwood told him, moving to let Vash out. He swallowed, "I've got a few errands of my own to do until then."

"Alright, we'll see you later Mr. Priest," Milly agreed and smiled warmly at him.

"Yeah, later Big Girl," the black haired man grinned wolfishly back, holding up a hand as the trio departed.

* * *

-_-SY-0152, 9:29 AM-_

Vash looked up, reading various street signs until he found himself weaving through the busy crowds gathered on the main road. A lot of vendors had set up along the side of the street, calling out prices and attempting to draw in more customers. The shouting pressed his mild headache into an evolving migraine and he had to force himself not to massage his temples. It was like a thousand sandworms were burrowing into his brain, flailing around and attempting to find a way out by digging their way through the soft tissue over and over again. At the same time it felt as though a Thomas was gnawing on his open brain. He couldn't decide what was worse of the two.

It didn't help that he was feeling a little crowded too, constantly trying not to be shoved into the street by the less-than-polite gunmen. His equilibrium stayed for three blocks until he had to press himself against the side of a building to escape the eat-and-run high tailing it through the crowd.

"Wow," Milly began, "it's really crowded today isn't it?"

"No kidding," Meryl agreed, eyeing Vash as subtly as she could. He didn't seem to notice her gaze, however, instead turning towards the adobe building he'd pressed himself against. As her charge slipped inside the building the black haired woman turned her glance upwards, reading the store sign; _Easy Grease. _

"Ah, isn't this the place that boy was talking about last night?" her partner noticed the title's familiarity.

Meryl blinked, "yeah, it is." She shook her head, having completely forgotten about said mechanic, "come on, we need to follow him." Quickly moving forwards she pushed the door open, her blonde haired partner close behind.

The room left nothing spectacular or particularly appealing to the two girls. However, should they have been mechanics the various tools and parts would have been rather pleasing. There was some quality stuff hanging up on various shelves and even dangling from the ceiling for decorative purposes. The store held everything you needed to build a gun and more.

A sky light gave the room a beautiful glow, illuminating the dust in the air and reflecting off of various metals. The rather small store seemed abandoned at first glance but when the two made it through the complicated forest of various aisles they found an open workshop at the back. There was a counter serving as a barrier separating the shop from the main store, branching off in a diagonal line at the end where a cash register and a chair waited for the next customer.

Vash was on the other side of the counter talking with the boy from before.

"That's all?" Lillo was saying.

Vash nodded, "the valve is the only problem I found." The brunette hummed, grabbing his chin and looking at the blond-black haired man's prosthetic arm.

"Let me take a quick look," Vash opened his mouth, "-it'll be free of charge."

A smile lit up his face, "aha, thanks." But Lillo wasn't listening, already grabbing the tools he'd need.

"My Pa is out right now and he won't be back for a while, is there anything you girls need?" he looked to the insurance girls as Vash took a seat.

Surprised, Meryl lifted her hands, "oh, no. We're just here to watch him." She pointed to the gunman. Lillo glanced between them and suddenly, much to Meryl's horror, he chuckled.

"Oh, _I _see," he smirked. The short woman turned a bright red while Vash threw his head back and let loose a bark of laughter. While she was busy stuttering denials the younger teen pointed to a nearby wall rack, "if you want to sit there are some stools on that bracket."

Milly escorted a fuming Meryl towards the wall and removed a pair for them to sit on. For the next ten minutes the two girls remained here, coming to chat amiably while they waited for Vash and Lillo to finish.

"Ah, there it is," the brunette muttered, finally discovering the valve his patient had been talking about. He used his screwdriver to move the wires obstructing his vision away from the damaged site, "what kind of dumbass can bust something like a corben bar from the outside?" He continued to mumble as he worked, removing the cam and the cylinder attached before gently lifting out the spoiled part.

Vash simply sat there quietly, relieved to be out of the crowd and waiting for his migraine to calm down. So far the progress there had been minimal. His stomach had resumed its churning from earlier too. Damn these side-effects. What was the point of a pain killer if it made everything else hurt?

Another consciousness brushed up against his and he felt his sister's concern pervade his thoughts. She pushed and prodded him, wild concern roaring through her before he could do anything to comfort her. Quite suddenly the younger speared him with panic and he flinched.

"Sorry, did I hurt you?" Lillo asked, forcing Vash's attention away from his worried sibling.

"Ah, no, it's nothing," he replied with what he hoped was a reassuring smile. _What is it? What's wrong? _he asked his sister. She gave him a mental shove, pushing him away. It was almost as though she was afraid of him, like she wanted him to go somewhere else. While he attempted to figure out what the problem was Lillo had kept talking and when he realized Vash wasn't listening he issued a firm whack on the shoulder with the new corben bar.

"Hey, can't you even listen?" he demanded. The blond-black haired gunman smiled sheepishly, his sister giving him one final, insistent shove before retreating from his mind. He made a quick mental note to go and visit her today.

"Haha, what was that?"

Lillo sighed, "never mind then."

Innocent, Vash blinked at him. At first glance Lillo really didn't appear to be a gun craftsman, he resembled more the sort of person he'd see handling cars or motorcycles so it was a little odd to find such a young character to be Chumash's target. But, judging by the teen's intense focus on his arm, he'd rather be making something other than guns. Keeping his concern for his sister hidden, he lifted his tone to a more relaxed pitch and began, "So, you're the guy who made the gun people are saying can shoot multiple kinds of bullets?"

Distracted, the teen nodded, "that's the one. I put it on display a week or so ago and presented it at an auction in Octovern but the prices people are offering haven't been enough so I still got it."

Vash nodded, he figured as much. Lillo's father was handicapped in some way and the brunette was hoping to make enough money to treat his father's impairment. Judging by the various canes lying around and the special office chair beside the cash register, the man must have a bad leg.

He turned his attention back on the teen working on his arm, attention diligent and practiced. Lillooet's young hands were tough but steady and stained with black grease, indicating years of long, hard work.

"_Michael Lillooet?" the shoemaker said to Vash over the rumble of the sandsteamer, "Well, I hear he's 16 and a working boy. All the money he makes goes to his father's medication too so he can't afford to get an honest education and there's barely enough food for the two of them. Once his father dies, I wonder what he'll do."_

"And of course now I have some stupid bounty trying to steal it," the teen muttered irritably, breaking Vash out of his thoughts. "Whatever happened to all of those good, honest people?"

"One cannot reflect in streaming water, only those who know internal peace can give it to others," Vash advised sagely in a rare moment of open wisdom.* The look on his face reminded the boy of one his mother had often worn when talking about the joys in life.

Lillo looked at him, a little stunned seeming. "Ah," he agreed after a moment and his patient smiled. The moment was ruined with a yawn and Vash's fare more casual question;

"So are you going to finish? I've sort of got some things to finish today." Lillo clicked his tongue and set his attention back to the bar.

"You've got it wrong, by the way," he told the outlaw, pushing the moment aside.

"Hm?"

"The gun I've made can fire _any _kind of bullet. Caliber doesn't matter if you're wielding it." Okay, so that was somewhat more impressive. But it still sounds like a pain.

"Sounds like it's a handful," Vash replied. Lillo ignored him and instead added the final touches to his arm, using a specialized torque wrench to secure the bolts in place.

"That thing is incredible," the young mechanic said when they'd at last completed replacing the dented valve, "where'd you get it anyway?"

Vash smiled, pulling his glove on, "from some friends of mine," he answered vaguely. Lillooet scoffed but left it at that. "What about you? This can't be your first time seeing a prosthetic like this."

The boy turned and began to clean his workspace up, "Well, sure, I've seen a few people with metal arms but none of them that connect with the radial nerves like that." He gestured to Vash's arm, unaware of the older man's surprised expression, "no-one's been able to figure that part out yet so the fact that you're wearing something so advanced definitely attracts attention to yourself. But that's probably only likely in Dullport. Although," he looked up at Vash, a curious expression on his face. "Say," he scrutinized the blond with a suddenly critical eye, "you're not _Vash the Stampede_, are you?" Meryl's shoulders jumped and her eyes suddenly took on an enormous size.

But Vash played it well, tilting his head to the side innocently and looking a little confused, "No? Where'd you get that idea?"

Lillooet didn't look all that convinced though and he looked up at him from the corner of his eye, "you just don't really seem like a 'Vasquez' kind of guy." For a few moments it looked as though the teen might press the matter further but the trio was saved the trouble when he returned to his work. "Whatever," he shrugged it off and slid an old rag over the counter, cleaning up the grease and oil, "it doesn't really matter if you are or aren't. Just don't go destroying anything, like all those other nut jobs out there." The comment was sort of off-handed and casual but Vash could hear the threat in there.

He feigned surprise, "of course I won't!"

"If you do you'll never get a freebie ever again," he warned.

Meryl stood, "Don't worry, we won't allow him to cause trouble."

"Yeah, if we don't our boss will get mad at us so we have to be careful about where we let him go," Milly said far too openly for comfort. Vash sweat dropped, feeling somewhat like some kind of misbehaving dog.

"Hey," he began lamely.

"Well," the brunette interrupted, "you guys should probably get going. If my dad finds out I'm letting you go without pay this time there'll be trouble."

"Oh, of course," Milly bowed, "thank you for your help!"

"No problem, I'm called 'The Metal Boy' around here for a reason," Lillo remarked with a respectful head bob. For a few moments, the Stampede eyed him with a sense of understanding twinkling in his emerald eyes.

"You've got pretty impressive talent," Vash pointed out after a pregnant pause, "you could even make your dad a _new _leg in a few years if you put down the guns."

It was like someone had grabbed his heart and stopped it with the flick of a button. Lillo stood there, staring dumbly at the blond-black haired man, surprised and completely unable to respond as he waved and said his goodbyes before flowing out the door like a breeze brushing past a window. The two girls followed quickly after him, but with much less grace, stumbling out the door and running after the disappearing gunman.

Such a thing, could he really _do _something like that? In this life, could a caged bird learn to unhook his latch and set himself free just so long as someone reminded him that it was indeed possible to do so? In the din, Lillooet stood there behind the counter alone, contemplating a brighter future for the first time in a long while. After some time he looked down at his tool kit. Pulling a $$20 bill out from beneath the metal box he couldn't stop himself from laughing a little, a warm smile finally spreading across his face.

"'Vash the Stampede', huh?"

And his voice echoed in the quiet room with a little more room for some hope.

-TBC-

* * *

***I'm taking a more realistic approach, or trying to since this is Vash we're talking about and he isn't exactly human. If someone got impaled by a metal construction pole I'd think they wouldn't **_**fully**_** recover until years had passed, the wound itself would probably take months to just fully close. The thing went partially through his liver, large intestine, left kidney, etc. so not only does the flesh and muscle have to heal but so do his organs. (though, realistically, only his liver would be able to grow back) With voodoo plant powers I'm sure that Vash the Stampede can make that work but its still gunna take some time. **

***Here's a good question: how is it possible for this planet to have **_**salmon **_**sandwiches when there aren't any bodies of water large enough to hold fish or wildlife of any kind?**

*****_**One can not reflect in streaming water.**__**  
**__**Only those who know internal peace can give it to others.**__**  
**__**- Lao Tzu**_

**I should probably point out that 'boy' and 'teen' pretty much mean the same thing to me as far as Lillooet is concerned. It really depends on the culture. I'm sorry if it's confusing. **

**Writer's block is killing me so horribly I think I'll be putting this thing on temp hiatus. ._. FFFFF. I've been working on this thing for WAY too long, rewrote it like 4 times and it **_**still **_**doesn't satisfy me. *brain explodes* (It's not that I don't have **_**ideas**_**, it's just that all of my ideas don't pertain to this story in any feasible way whatsoever. Brain. Stop it.)**

**Anyway, thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed. Critiques are valuable, flames are hilarious.**


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